The lights dim to a carmine, and there are scattered claps and shouts from around the basement. I am at The Mash House on Guthrie Street to see Sunday (1994), and it is my first time visiting the venue. Though the capacity is only around 200, it feels like there’s room to breathe.
At the atmospheric turn, the band– notably chanteuse Paige Turner and guitarist Lee Newell – emerge to Angelo Badalamenti’s Twin Peaks theme. Turner is dressed as if she’d rather appear in greyscale, in a black bustier dress with a small cross on her cheek; she would feel in place on the cover of Lana Del Rey’s Ultraviolence. Newell, on the other hand, is clad in his band’s own t-shirt, topped with a pin-adorned black blazer. He’s got Buddy Holly glasses and a greaser-meets-Morrissey haircut; if you squint, he looks just like Elvis Costello. They don’t wait to start playing – smartly, they proceed with ‘Our Troubles’, a dreamy track that packs a punch. Though they can sonically be likened to The Cranberries or Slowdive, their lyrics have the acerbicity of an Aimee Mann song.
Sunday (1994) do not have to ease into anything; from the first note they are completely attuned to one another, and it is immediately unbelievable that they are a band that released their first single in February of last year. Newell, originally from Slough but now a long-time LA resident, does not just channel Elvis Costello in looks; he matches the music, moving to it like he must, backing up Turner vocally in a blend so seamless you forget that it’s being formulated before your very eyes. Turner herself owns the microphone stand like Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet, and floats around the stage like Florence Welch. She manages to sound better than the studio track, crooning as if she is mid-prayer whilst inviting the audience to do the same.
The audience – though engaged by default as they are here to see the band – grow more attached as the show reaches its second act. ‘Stained Glass Window’ is a clear fan favourite and my personal favourite track by the band. Though it can be interpreted a number of ways, it has widely been adopted as a queer anthem, containing the lyrics “The preachers say that I’ll go to hell / But I don’t want anybody else.” “Where are my allies?” Turner asks as the track commences, and there is a clamorous scream. A pair of girlfriends behind me embrace, singing to one another, and The Mash House is alive.
The band are skilled at capturing the audience’s attention, but they are even better at keeping it. There is representation from every demographic in this crowd, but it overwhelmingly leans female, particularly towards the stage. Some fans have method-dressed, adopting Turner’s style of Peter Pan collars, Mary Jane shoes, long socks and a cross around their neck. It is for this reason that the chant in ‘TV Car Chase’ works so well, “My head’s in the oven”, the bridge repeats, a clear reference to Sylvia Plath’s demise. Turner urges the crowd to sing along, and they do, with increasing ferocity.
The band do not just attempt to appeal to spectators nichely, but on a broader level, too. UK-born Newell has clearly informed their American frontwoman of the originally Glaswegian “Here we, here we, here we fucking go” concert chant. This is called upon to excite the crowd during song breaks, and is hailed upon again at the start of the encore. Turner herself re-emerges with the phrase on a large placard, waving it around like a magic wand. Though the music is undeniably great, concertgoers around me are clearly won over by the charm of Turner and Newell, who are not only a long-term couple, but a delight to watch interact on stage.
I feel lucky to have seen Sunday (1994) in their infancy. I expect, in five, ten or even one year, to be bragging to my friends to have discovered the band before they did.
Image Credits: Sarina Maloy
